


Forces of Nature

by LunaDeSangre



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 18:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17627246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaDeSangre/pseuds/LunaDeSangre
Summary: Impossibleis an impossibility in itself. The accurate term should probably be:improbable.Or: The one where Kelly isn't quite what he appears to be, and Matt somehow finds himself given what he wants the most.





	Forces of Nature

**Author's Note:**

> Because this fandom needs senseless little fairytales-like oddities, okay? Every fandom does!

It starts like this: Hallie leaves, come backs, leaves, comes back, leaves, comes back and dies. Dawson leaves, comes back, promises him forever, and leaves. He wants children. He's always wanted children. But he's ready to give up, really. Give up on nearly everything, possibly.

But Kelly, Kelly gives the best hugs. And that's worth hanging on for.

*

It starts like this: he's eighteen and alone, lost but determined, and a guy a tiny bit older than him decides to be his friend. He brings his own best friend with him: dark hair, infinite stormy blue eyes, ridiculously handsome face, the body of a marble god—the sweetest, kindest smile he's ever seen, and a strangely girly name.

And maybe Matt falls a little bit in love, already.

*

It changes like this: there's a woman in his bed. She's got eyes like a bottomless stormy ocean and hair of burnt silver, shiny and dark, and her smile is bright enough to light up the whole world. He doesn't know how she got here, but here she is, in his bed, over him and all over him.

"I can give you a child," she says, voice soft and loving and familiar in some way he can't seem to place, like a vanishing dream he's maybe had before, or an old fading memory, "but she won't be quite human."

"I'll love her anyway," he begs, hands all over her, pleading and worshipping and _begging_ , "I'll love her no matter what."

"I know you will, Matt," she soothes, soft and loving and familiar, "I know you will."

She tastes like a storm too, and loves him like one, like a stormy ocean, raw and wild and all-encompassing, overwhelming like a deep high wave. He nearly drowns, inside of her, and she floats him to the shore.

In the morning, he thinks he's dreamt the whole thing.

But the long silver hair tangled around the ring finger of his left hand says otherwise.

*

Kelly is gone, next shift, taking extended furlough until further notice without having spoken to anyone. Even the Chief hasn't seen him, notified only via the presence of Benny Severide, awaiting his arrival with all the required paperwork laid out on his desk.

Matt tries his phone, but it, too, is disconnected until further notice.

 _Health reasons_ , Benny says. Along with _Don't worry, it's nothing serious, he'll be back_. There's something like fond amusement in his voice. Matt doesn't understand.

*

It changes like this: there's a baby on his doorstep. In a basket. Kelly's been away for nine and a half months with no words whatsoever and Matt has never found his mysterious stormy woman and he's lonelier than ever, and there's a baby on his doorstep in a basket.

He doesn't know who rang his doorbell. He doesn't know why that baby is here, or _how_ it got here—he's half tempted to look up for the stork.

But there's a baby on his doorstep in a basket, a cute little round face with huge blue eyes blinking up at him from a bundle of bright green blankets, tiny little curls of soft dark hair peeking out of a ridiculously adorable panda hat.

There's a whole bunch of papers too, with a birth certificate folded right in the middle, so that it's the first thing he sees when he opens them. _Alex Leslie Casey_ , it says, _born August 12th, 2019_. _Father: Matthew Casey_ , _mother: unknown_.

He sits down on the floor, heavily, right there on the doorstep, hardly daring to breathe, hardly daring to believe his eyes. The baby— _his_ baby—studies him, blue eyes huge and infinite like a sunny sky, as he trembles and tries to breathe and drinks her in.

 _I know you'll take good care of me_ , says the inside of the card he found the papers into, huge red heart taking all of its front page, _I already love you too_.

He laughs through his tears, and _Alex Leslie Casey_ giggles up at him, extending little chubby arms and little chubby fingers in his direction.

*

He takes paternity leave. He can't seem to put her down, so full of love it feels like he's constantly bursting with it and constantly filling with more.

She soaks attention like a sponge but doesn't cry for it, eats when he feeds her, sleeps when he tucks her in. She watches him with huge serene blue eyes and smiles at him like pure sweetness, giggles when he tickles her, leans into cuddles like an affectionate kitten.

She's the most well-behaved, easiest baby in the world, and he's the luckiest man in the world, and he has no idea how he's ever going to go back to work, because she's his little miracle and he doesn't know how he can ever trust someone else with her.

*

It changes like this: Kelly comes back. He drops in on Matt, like everyone else has before him, like he's never been away at all. He's got a bag full of baby things, a grin that lights up the world, and a complete lack of any sort of believable excuse for his disappearance.

Matt's little miracle greets him with delighted giggles, little chubby arms and little chubby fingers flailing excitedly up at him until he picks her up, like he's done it a thousand times before, like holding her against him—in his arms, against his chest—is the most natural thing in the world for him too.

He cuddles her and kisses her forehead and she coos in sheer joy, like she already, instinctively knows and trusts him, and as Matt watches, feeling calm and complete and so, so overwhelmingly happy to have them both here, the two persons he loves the most, Kelly looks back at him, eyes blue and infinite, and smiles—like the most pure, the most sweet kindness that could ever exist.

And maybe Matt finally starts to notice the dots.

*

They're actually ridiculously easy to link up—they just don't make any sort of sense. Not in a normal, well-ordered world.

But the world has never been well-ordered, and normal is a relative term. Normal is relative to knowledge and perception and what is seen and not seen, and Matt is suddenly feeling like he's lived his whole life with blinders on: now he _sees_.

So he approaches Kelly one night, on the roof of the firehouse, Alex safe with Cindy, his mind full of impossible things and his heart full of something else: he's probably always been a little bit in love, and he's probably always been looking in the wrong places, and it doesn't make sense, except it really, really does, and his heart is _so full_ it feels like it's overflowing, all over, everywhere.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he asks, simply, not quite a question.

And Kelly, back to him, seemingly watching the city lights, obviously having heard him approach, doesn't flinch, or laugh, or ask what he means.

He doesn't turn, either. But Matt _sees_ : sees the silver of his hair shining darkly in the starlight, the slight shift of his strong frame, the minute bow of his head. He knows that's a _yes_ , there, a _yes_ and a _sorry_ , a _I just wanted to give you what you've always been wishing for_.

So he doesn't ask _how_ or _why_ : he knows those are questions Kelly will only answer on his own terms, on his own time. He twirls the ring of long silver hair in his left pocket, around the tip of his fingers, like he's done so often since he found it, for strength, for reassurance. As an anchoring point, in Kelly's absence. He has a feeling he knows the why already.

"It was _you_ ," he breathes out again, voice hushed with immense awed gratefulness, "it's _always been you_."

And Kelly turns to face him, smooth, steady, inscrutable. He cuts a stark, shadowed figure against the city lights, tall and solid, like a perfectly-carved, eternal statue. But soft. Alive. And _kind_.

"I'm not quite human," he finally whispers—almost a question. Even in the darkness, his eyes are shimmering.

"I don't care," Matt pleads— _begs_ , with everything he is, his whole heart and his whole soul. " _Please just let me love you_."

*

It goes like this: Kelly is in Matt's bed. He's got eyes like a bottomless stormy ocean and hair of burnt silver, shiny and dark, and his smile is bright enough to light up the whole world. He followed Matt through the door, and here he is, in Matt's bed, over him and all over him.

"Succubus," Kelly tells him, right against his lips, "or Incubus. Very few people realize we're one and the same." He grins, hovering there over Matt, shining bright and silver blue and very nearly blinding. "I live on sweet things," he whispers, "love, sugar and clear water. She will, too. And she might not stay a girl either."

"Could you live off me?" Matt begs, hands all over him, pleading and worshipping and _begging_. "I love you, Kel, I _love you so much_."

"I already do, Matt," Kelly answers, inhaling the words against the skin of his throat, soft and loving and familiar, "and so does she. You radiate love like the sun radiates warmth."

He tastes like a storm too, and loves him like one, like a stormy ocean, raw and wild and all-encompassing, overwhelming like a deep high wave. Matt nearly drowns, filled with him, and Kelly floats him to the shore.

In the morning, he's still there, watching Matt wake up with the adoring patience of eternity, their little miracle tucked between them in her bundle of bright green blankets, cute little round face with huge blue eyes blinking at him, tiny little curls of soft dark hair peeking out of her panda hat.

"Hi," Matt breathes.

Kelly smiles, like the ineluctable brightness of a very longed-for dawn, and _their little miracle_ giggles, as sweetly and as softly as a newborn breeze.

And Matt has never felt so loved.

*

It doesn't end: some things never die.


End file.
